°• Rewrite The Stars || A dear Starboy fan sequel •°

Chapter 1: Harsh Tides

Holiday trauma, spirals towards obsession; loopholes and loopholes of the same thing that's happened for years and years, ever since Thomas's beloved, Tord had passed away, all remnants of his departed lover in a box Tom had kept in his room.
The past hadn't done Tom well, and Thomas just had to stay alone in his room all day, not having gone outside in weeks, and not having eaten in almost a whole week.
His hair was practically falling out of his head little by little because of this recurring 'habit', and he always felt sick to his stomach whenever presented with food in the first place, let alone eating it.
He felt like he didn't deserve, nor did he have the time for food, though it was genuinely the opposite.
The shoebox of polaroids sat below Tom's bed, and Tom was tempted to open it, though obviously restraining himself, for his own well-being. But.. It practically called out Tom's name, begging to be opened. Not literally of course, though it just had a tempting aura to it and with that, a strange urge that almost felt obsessive.
Tom stared at the box blankly, almost tearing up as he felt a pit grow in his stomach, flashbacks of the misery he had when Tord passed away, the guilt he had, and the wound still to this day left unfixed, his spirits broken as Tom snapped and soon gave in, taking out a Polaroid picture Tord and Tom had taken together, something as simple as a picture of them holding hands making Tom instinctively break down and tear up, cold tears running down his cheeks and swiftly dripping down his chin, almost like the same waterfall they used to embrace, though now, the only thing embraced when Tom brought it to mind, was monsters, fear, and tragedy, with the incident.
He sniffled for a quick second, but wiped away his tears with his sleeve, standing up.
He walked into the living room, cautious to avoid his father so he wouldn't have to be hurt again.
Tom put on a grey jacket, slipped out a pen and paper, whipped out his checkered patterns jacket, slipped on his shoes, and went on his way, eyes narrowed. He heaved his backpack over his shoulder as he sighed, walking somewhere that he knew would be his last.
He soon arrived on a bridge.
The bridge was framed with a bronze color and the waterfront was icy cold, dark blue with streaks of white streaming from the waters that lied there.
Tom's vision went fuzzy from a mix of guilt and rememberance, also probably due to the fact that he wasn't crying, but sobbing horribly at this, getting on his knees at a sidewalk in the bridge and writing. It read out,
"Dear Starboy. To say things have been rough without you would be an understatement, and hell, frankly, would be better to go through than having to lose you.
You meant the world to me, and I'm sorry.
If I could have just been good and stayed, you'd still be here in my arms.
I am truly sorry. It has become painfully obvious that it is completely my fault.
I'm slowly coming undone bit by bit, and it's been four years, Tord.
Four years, and I've finally decided.
I'm going to join you.
To put it short, I'm going to join you and kill myself so that I can be with you forevermore if I can, so that I can apologize, once and for all.
I'm sorry.
Goodbye. ~Thomas (Kittyboy)."
Tom sighed, rolling the paper up into a jar and throwing it into the water below him, watching it sink into the sapphire tinted waters, just like he would.
Tom then stood up on the wire and concrete plated framing of the bridge, shifting his arms out and putting himself, arms and all, into a T shaped pose, glancing down at the glimmering water before letting himself fall, plummeting hundreds of feet down into the harsh tides, all the memories Tord and Tom had made, celebrated, and embraced together rushing through his mind like an angry bull chasing Everlong, soon finally fading and breaking down dead into the water, the pressure of the water weighing against him and pressing against him harshly, as he choked and came undone, his body now lifeless and dead in the water.

...Right..?

He woke up in the hospital, jolting up with a Yelp, as he realized where he was, glanced down at his hands, then back up at the room around him, eyes widening.
The IVs in place connected to his arms and legs, the beeping of the heart monitor beside him, and the almost colorless white hue of the room surrounded him. He was clearly in a hospital, freezing up in shock. The white and grey tiles, the window, opened to a view outside, and the rest of said hospital surrounded the Jehovah's witness, though no people were in sight.
No doctors, no guests, no police, nothing.

Did he die?

Did he survive his suicide attempt?!?

What happened..?

..What happened..?..